


Gold Leaf

by Yuki1014o



Series: World Noble Sabo AU [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: AU exploration, Companion Piece, Gen, POV Outsider, Tenryuubito Sabo, World Noble Sabo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:14:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27789559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuki1014o/pseuds/Yuki1014o
Summary: The steps in-between. Saint Sabo as seen by others, and moments of his life.AKA: scenes that either didn't make it into the main fic, or I thought up after the main fic was done. Outsider POVS and expansions on this AU!(This is a companion piece to 'don't bury me with gold' wherein Sabo is born a World Noble.)
Relationships: Im & Sabo (One Piece)
Series: World Noble Sabo AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1869550
Comments: 70
Kudos: 110





	1. Teatime with Im

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't proofread! I'll do it eventually, but my neglected Algebra homework is yelling at me as I upload this.
> 
> ALSO. Im is referred to with they/them. Are they nb? Does Sabo simply not know? You decide. I just didn't want to gender them.

After the first time, Sabo’s visits with Im become…less dramatic.

They happen every so often. Not regularly, or frequently, but enough that Im never quite manages to slip into the back of Sabo’s mind. Once every...two months, or so. There’s no schedule to it that Sabo knows. They have tea, sometimes, or Im walks down long carved corridors that Sabo never knew the existence of and hums songs that died centuries ago.

It isn’t casual, not really. Casual is Ace, is Shakky, is Sabaody, is not having to watch every word and being something close to relaxed. Casual is soft moss and popping bubbles in the background, is warm hands and warmer faces. Casual is not Im.

Im never drops the Conqueror’s Haki. It’s a constant. Never quite as strong as that first meeting but…

It doesn't need to be. Every breath is still an achievement, words still don’t come to his tongue without Im’s invitation, Sabo still can’t _function_ like this. He’s sixteen. It’s been almost a year since meeting Im. He shouldn’t still be this—this—this—

Numbly, Sabo registers that his knee hurts. He’s been kneeling ever since he arrived up here. How many seconds has it been?

“Rise.”

Sabo stands unthinkingly. Another thing that hasn’t changed: Sabo’s ability, or rather, lack thereof, to resist Im’s commands. He should feel angry about that. He doesn't. It’s natural, after all.

A migraine already. Sabo can’t tell if everything is much too silent or if he just can’t hear anything. How many seconds has it been?

Im’s head tilts, eyes glittering in that sharp, blood-edged way. Their lips are formed in a not-quite smile. It’s a cold, alien thing.

 _What do you want of me?_ Sabo wants to ask. He wants to play with the hem of his suit. Doesn’t. Im has yet to give order. How much effort would it take to do sometime without prompting? There are no physical limitations. Sabo spends his free time _sneaking off the Red Line_ , he should be able to speak without permission. It’s not like Im has even _told_ him not to speak.

They’ve never needed to. Sabo doesn't move.

“Sit.”

So Sabo sits. It’s not an uncomfortable chair. Not nearly as luxurious or cushioned as normal chairs in Mariejois, but still comfortable. A relatively normal tea chair, if one ignores that it’s made of silver, lined with garnet, and cushioned with silk.

A cold breeze tickles at Sabo’s hair. They’re in one of Pangaea’s many outdoor gardens. Except Sabo had no idea this one existed. It’s small, but towers above the whole world. The highest point of the tallest spire.

The garden is populated by yellow roses of such a deep shade that they become gold. The two-person tea table is set at the edge, by the railing, just a few steps from a deadly plummet. Beneath them, the world is reduced to specks. Does Im come here regularly?

How fitting.

Sabo really can’t concentrate on that. Or think much of it at all. Im is still _looking_ at him. Do they expect him to speak? Should he? He—

“You’re agitated.” On someone else, that tone might be concerned, but Im’s voice is smooth as silk and their words are merely a statement, merely a prompting.

Sabo breathes through the lump in his throat. That’s prompting.

 _What do you want with me?_ But—that may sound impatient, or demanding, and Sabo doesn't mean it like that. He wouldn’t dare.

“All I want is to serve,” Sabo not-quite-lies, voice a little quiet, a bit shaky, and incredibly reverent, even to his own ears. “But I don’t know what you want of me.”

It isn’t an act. A whole year of trying to adapt and it _still isn’t a lie_. Dragon would be so disappointed with him if he knew. Sabo has only informed him of the barest basics. Not—not all the effects Im has on him.

Sabo thinks of biting down on his cheek. Doesn’t. Not here.

“Talk about what you did over break.”

Sabo’s whole chest freezes over. His heart skips a beat, thoughts screech to a halt. That—!

Im takes a sip of still-steaming tea. They don’t seem bothered. Im sets down the cup and tilts their head, movement fluid. Reddish amber eyes, the color of molten lava and fire-hazed sky. They demand—no— _require_ answer.

And Sabo must to decline this, must avert this, must speak falsehood. He spent break down in Sabaody without permission. Im must know this. Im must know everything. Except—they don’t. There’s still hope. But Sabo—

Sabo cannot lie. Can barely think. Much less think straight. His head hurts.

“I went to Sabaody,” Sabo says, “without permission or escort.”

Im is silent.

Sabo can barely breathe. Air too thick, too thin, too cold, sharp in his lungs. What is he _doing—_

“Mariejois gets stifling,” Sabo says, because Im’s gaze burns coldly on his skin, and the silence presses words from his throat. “Sabaody...is refreshing. It’s a good change of pace. I like watching the world from the ground.”

Im is silent.

Sabo needs to shut up.

“CP agents would get in the way of my objective,” Sabo says, “I like the anonymity.”

Im is silent.

Sabo—

 _WAIT_ , he screams at himself, running his tongue over his teeth, hard enough to hurt. If he bit down it would show in his jaw. Then, quieter (as if Im can hear his thoughts) _shut up_. _Think about this better_.

He can’t lie. He wants to give the full truth more than anything. He wants to spill his soul as if talking to a confessional. He wants to be free of this stress, he wants to spread his whole psyche out to Im and receive forgiveness. ( _For what!? He’s_ —)

“I didn’t feel connected with my peers, I consider them stupid and frankly insufferable, you and the Gorosei are the only ones with any sense up here, and...”

 _T_ _here’s a unique opportunity here_ , Sabo realizes. To frame his actions in an understandable (non-treasonous) light. He just needs to focus on select emotions and frustrations. He needs to completely distance himself from thoughts about his family and revolution.

That is...hard, but not impossible. Im makes it easier. With Im, he is already distanced from thoughts of revolution. _Okay_.

“It just gets unbearably frustrating,” Sabo confesses, “I feel caged, and isolated. I cannot confide in the Gorosei and you...I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to hear this. You’re above this. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to go against you. I don’t want to betray you. I hope you don’t see it that way it’s just...”

Sabo takes another breath. It comes easier, if only by the barest degree. Is that him, or is that Im lessening the Haki? Air is thin up here.

“I feel so useless sometimes. I don’t feel like what I do is enough, like it’ll never be enough, like I’ll just—I don’t know.” Sabo laughs a bit, digs his nails into his palms. No use in holding anything back now. This is only an act in the sense that it’s constructed—the building materials are all true. “It’s a lot. And it’s easier when I’m off the Red Line. It feels like freedom.”

Im is silent.

“I don’t want to run away from this,” Sabo says, “I have my duty. I understand my duty. And I _want_ to fulfill it but I just—it’s nice, to be away. I—”

Im raises a hand. Sabo cuts off instantly.

Shame crawls itchy and hot across his skin. He hasn’t spilled like that to anyone. Not even Rayleigh or Shakky. Yet he’s just laid it on _Im_ of all people. Im, who burnt the world to ashes and built a whole new order from the dust. Im, who conquered and conquered until there was nothing left to take.

And here Sabo is, genuinely pouring his feelings as if he’s some kind of _child_.

A beat. One. Two. Three. The air tastes like roses and ozone.

“Understandable,” Im eventually says, voice velvet soft. “You’re responsible enough to be out on your own.” Another pause. “Does the idea of traveling around the globe sound appealing?”

That isn’t a question. “Yes.”

A hum, deep and melodic. “Your excursions are excused. Continue as you wish. Besides that...there is a kingdom in North Blue with recently discovered seastone reserves. They don’t want to give it up without a fight. Go there, observe, and work out a method that will give us everything we want and nonetheless leave them with the illusion of agency.”

Sabo feels somewhere between breathless and lightheaded. “...What?”

Im shifts, inky black robes rippling. “You are a Celestial Dragon,” they say, “do not forget it. If you want something you have the both right and ability to take it.”

“Oh,” says Sabo, and wants to cry. His eyes hurt. He blinks back tears. It’s just—

Im is giving him what he wants, just like that. He now doesn’t have to worry about sneaking out to Sabaody. He’s now going to have duties all over the world. That’s going to make communicating with the revolutionaries _so much easier_. That’s going to let him see _so many places_.

The relief of that realization makes Sabo ache with happiness. All because of Im. _Im_. Now more than ever Sabo wants _serve_.

( _Dangerous! The Haki is still here._ _These feelings aren’t justified._ _This is manipulation—_ )

“Thank you so much.”

Im’s lips tilt into something that approximates a smile. A cold breeze makes the gold roses dance. Garnet-red butterflies flutter around from flower to flower. One lands on Im’s crown, then flits onto their fingers.

Sabo expects, for a moment, for the butterfly to be crushed. But Im simply stays still. Another crimson-winged butterfly perches on their crown.

Like this, beneath the white sunlight, among the gold roses, azure sky wrapped all around them, whole world below them—Im looks celestial. Butterflies on their crown, swathed in black deeper night, rusted amber eyes. They look like a god, a goddess, something divine.

Sabo’s head hurts. The air is too thin. The sky might split any second. _These feelings aren’t his—_

Im’s gaze strays to the flowers. “You would like the Hall of Lilies.”

“...Hall of Lilies?”

“One of the innermost gardens.”

“Oh,” Sabo says, chest tightening. He’s never heard of those gardens. Meaning that he’s just been given a token of trust by virtue of being allowed knowledge of them. It shouldn’t make him so happy.

He doesn't _need Im’s approval_. He doesn’t. Im is the most terrible thing to have ever lived. Except—

Are they?

It shouldn’t be a question. Sabo’s head hurts. His chest rattles. The air is too thin. Im is not _good_. Good is Dragon, is revolution, is equality. But is Im bad? _Terrible?_ Terrible is sadists, slavers, pillagers. It isn’t Im; isn’t white sunlight and gold roses and butterfly crowns. Isn’t the consideration ( _consideration!?_ )of Sabo’s feelings.

The world is terrible, Im is not. Except—

Im _is_ the world. The world is crafted in Im’s vision. Slavers exist because Im permits it. Tyranny exists because Im enforces it. Sabo can’t just—just _separate_ Im from the world. If one measures ‘terribleness’ by amount of harm caused, then Im is unparalleled.

By that standard, a newborn World Noble would be a worse person than a common cold-blooded killer. But that isn’t a fair comparison, is it? Because Im _chose_ this, didn’t they? It’s about intention, isn’t it? No slaver thinks they’re doing good. What Im has done…

Is just nature, isn’t it? Want, conquest, control—those are all natural. Justified.

( _What? Justified? THIS is justified? Slaves? Tyranny?_ )

Im must think themself justified, good, even. But Sabo doesn't _know_. It could be like the Gorosei ( _the system must be maintained for our own benefit_.) Sabo doesn’t know _why_ Im has done any of this. Why they’ve conquered, made gardens, constructed castles that touch the clouds, doesn’t know why Im does _anything_.

Sabo does not know Im, _cannot_ know Im; after all, understanding the mind of a higher being is rather impossible, isn’t it?

Im’s eyes gleam. Another head-tilt. Rippling black. “You’re agitated again.”

 _Who even are you_ , Sabo wants to say, _what even are you? I still can’t hate you. Do you know I want to hate you?_

Sabo runs his tongue over his teeth hard enough to hurt. “I’m just—wondering. About you. Why you’ve done what you’ve done, who you are, what you think. Just...you.”

_Just you._

( _These thoughts aren’t—_ )

Im is silent. Their eyes narrow. Rusted amber, the color of molten lava and fire-hazed sky. “What do you think?”

The sky is blue, water is wet, empires rise and fall. Im’s rule continues unbroken. Always, always, always. In the face of that…

“...I don’t dare presume.”

Sabo means it.

“Then don’t presume,” Im says, voice silk-smooth and just as cold. “Don’t think. Don’t wonder. It isn’t your place.”

That’s fair. That makes sense. Good, bad, justified to themself or not—Im is undoubtedly the greatest existence to have lived. Must undoubtedly be ( _will inevitably be!_ ) toppled.

To conclude more about Im than that would be akin to sacrilege.


	2. Sabo meets Whitebeard yay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few months after Ace was saved, Sabo meets with Whitebeard. POV Marco.

Ace’s brother ( _the World Noble!_ ) is not facing them. They’d agreed on this place as a meeting spot. It was Marco’s job to locate this place. A hidden cove. The whole thing was a headache to organize and coordinate. But everyone is here, now.

The blonde is sitting on a seaside rock, looking out to the dark moonlit waters. They’ve only just arrived. Is Ace’s brother not looking at them as a form of condensation, or is the turned back a show of trust?

A light sigh. Barely above a whisper. Ace’s brother turns around, eyes them. His honey-gold hair is silver in the moonlight. “You got here unnoticed?”

Marco wonders if he should speak, here, or if he should leave that to Pops. God, Ace’s brother is so _hard to read_. Nothing is showing on his expression.

“Yep,” Ace says, causally, flippantly, like that isn’t a Celestial Dragon, like that person doesn’t have the legal authority to command _admirals_ , like the people selected for this meeting didn’t have to be puzzled over for hours because any leaks could have globally horrific consequences. “Super careful. Don’t worry so much.”

It’s almost dizzying. Marco—look. He’s trying. He’s _trying_ not to judge Ace’s brother. He’s trying to keep in mind that, prior to finding out the boy’s status, he had already filed him as a _good person_. A revolutionary with priorities, with values. But it’s—hard. It’s hard. Marco knows too many former slaves for it to not be hard.

Ace’s brother nods sharply. “Good.” His attention visibly shifts, steel-cut gaze settling on Pops. “...Pleased to make your acquaintance, Whitebeard. My name is Sabo.”

Pops’ expression in uncharacteristically serious. He isn’t smiling, but he isn’t frowning, either. Not exactly. He’s assessing, judging, testing. They all are, really. Haruta looks like she’s struggling not to whip out a notebook. She’s only here because she’s chief of intelligence. Marco feels electric, and of them all (besides Ace), he’s probably the _most_ at-ease. He has met Sabo before, after all, no matter how briefly. 

“Saint Sabo,” Whitebeard responds. “What a ridiculous title.”

 _Saint_ Sabo. Ace’s brother—he doesn’t look the part. He’s not wearing one of those idiotic full-body coverings that World Nobles parade around in. Rather, he’s dressed down in a sleek seastone-gray suit, with practical fabric and flexible movement. He looks like a mini-Gorosei. _Which_ , Marco muses, _is probably the point._

Ace’s brother smiles politely. His hands are conspicuously ungloved. “I’d have to agree. It would be preferable if you didn’t call me by that.”

Whitebeard stares at him. Sabo stares back. There’s a slowly rising kind of pressure in the air. Heavy and oppressive and— _Conqueror’s Haki_ , Marco realizes. Another of Whitebeard’s tests. Ace is looking between Pops and Sabo uneasily. Marco pats him on the shoulder reassuringly.

“He’ll stop when it gets too much.”

Ace nods. He’s still frowning.

The pressure continues to increase. Ace looks lightheaded. Marco...he is used to Pop’s conqueror’s Haki. He’s been with his captain for _decades_ , after all. But this still presses on him heavily, tugs on his mind. And Sabo—

Sabo, the World Noble, Sabo, who’s likely never seen battle in his life, looks completely _unfazed_. There’s not even a twitch in his expression.

How the hell…?

“Nice Haki,” Sabo says, tone even.

Whitebeard huffs, looks amused. The Haki fades away. “And you have enough experience with Haki to know?”

“Perhaps,” Sabo says, vaguely, and shrugs. “But maybe not.”

Absolute bullshit. Marco glances around. Haruta also looks unsteady. She’s never had the best defense against Conquerors.

“Ace was always tight-lipped about you,” Pops says. Marco almost snickers. Ace looks away. _Tight-lipped_ is one way to put it. Someone once tried to peek at one of the letters and Ace punted him into the ocean.

“Ah.” Sabo says. “That’s good. I’d rather not be talked about at all.”

“But he always clearly cared for you. I’m sure he would’ve gone into battle for you.”

A beat. Ace is biting his lip.

“I don’t mean to presume,” Sabo says, slowly, and his voice is perfectly level. It should be sharp, it isn’t. “But are you trying to imply something?”

Pops huffs. “Marco told me that you considered your ‘responsibility’ elsewhere. How can you call yourself family?”

“Hey hey hey!” Ace interrupts. “You can’t just—c’mon, Pops, that isn’t—”

“I understand,” Sabo cuts, “that you...pirates consider things differently, but I do not equate my personal wants with my responsibilities. So yes, I call him family. But that is _personal_ , and quite frankly, I’m not sure why you’ve raised it as a subject.”

Marco can’t imagine living like that. He’s a pirate at heart, he’s selfish, he chases what he wants. That’s the pirate’s life. That’s the life of most people. It’s human nature, to prioritize oneself.

...What an anomaly.

“And yet,” Whitebeard says, and his eyes are glinting dangerously. Ah. “You think you can advise our movements.”

Damn it. It’s—Pops has too much pride. Marco understands this, of course, and doesn't _really_ consider it a bad thing. Because Whitebeard is _Whitebeard_ , and he has far beyond earned the right to be proud, but it’s at times like this that it becomes bothersome. Pops doesn't want to be told around by children. He’s an emperor of the sea. What wold it say if he did whatever some Red-Line child said?

Honestly, it was a bit of a headache to convince Pops into storming Impel Down instead. But he did agree, eventually. He is not _blind_. The information Sabo provided...it was invaluable.

“With all due respect,” Sabo says, and pauses, purses his lips, “I think I am a _little_ more knowledgeable about the WG than you.”

That makes things tense. That just isn’t—isn’t really something people _say_ to emperors. And it isn’t condescending, isn’t delivered arrogantly, isn’t said through a lens of superiority; is simply a fact, but _still_.

Ace shifts around uneasily on the sandy, rocky ground. The air is sharp and cold. This is an autumn island. “Uhh,” he says, “look, um. I’ve always known where Sabo puts his priorities. There’s no reason to make a big deal about of everything. If I died then I died, whatever. But I didn’t, so.”

Marco sighs, rubs at the bridge of his nose. He _hates_ the casual disregard Ace always seems to harbor about his own well being.

Sabo’s expression pinches, ever-so-slightly. It’s the first expression he’s shown. His shoe taps against the rocky ground. (It’s still such a _headfuck_ that he a _World Noble_ , cares in the slightest.)

“If you died then it would’ve been more than _whatever_.”

“Seconded,” Marco says, pulling Ace into his chest, and the boy struggles a bit, but seems to deem it a useless fight.

Ace’s brother looks at them, at something about him—softens, kind of. His eyes go looser around the edges, and while he doesn’t smile it’s—a kinder sort of look, Marco thinks. In the entire world, how many people get to see that look on him?

“This is getting off topic,” Sabo says, “I didn’t come here to bicker about trivialities. Rather...” he pauses, takes the hat off his head, draws that hand to his chest, and bows. He _bows_. The World Noble bows. “...I came here to thank you. Thank you for taking care for Ace. Thank you for preventing his execution. I’m aware that my thanks in unnecessary, I’m aware you would have it regardless of my person, but I would like to express my gratitude despite that.”

Whitebeard is silent. Waves lap at the cove’s shore.

“I see,” Pops says, eventually, pauses again. Marco wonders what he’s thinking. “The ship we used to get here is docked only a bit away. We brought food and ale.”

A return of thanks. A matching expression of gratitude. Marco has to stifle his smile. Ace looks like he has no idea what’s happening.

“Ah,” Sabo says, “apologies, I don’t drink.” _Don’t thank me_.

“Aww,” Ace interjects, because he clearly isn’t reading between the lines, “please? Don’t be so boring! I want you to stay.”

Sabo glances at him, then huffs a little. Hie closes his eyes for a moment, then smiles, although small. “I’ll have bread.”

And isn’t that just strange? A World Noble dining with pirates. A World Noble practicing _abstinence_. A World Noble _bowing_.

Marco is a pirate; he doesn’t judge based solely on background. A World Noble like Sabo…

Well. Strange things do happen on the Grand Line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one turned out much worse than it wrote out in my head. Sorry fam. I guess I'm just pretty new to outsider povs. I hope you liked it anyway. Thank you for taking the time to read. Per usual, constructive criticism is welcome and comments are appreciated <3

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh. It’s been four months on this story. Sorry. I have more ideas for this au that I want to fill in. sorry if anything is contradictory to the original fic. it’s been four months lol. Im is just one of the things that I kind of...didn’t have in the main fic as much as I wanted? So. Well. here’s more Im! Writing them is very fun.
> 
> Thank you for coming and reading haha. I hope you enjoyed, and if you did, please don’t hesitate to leave a comment! Constructive criticism is welcome. Don’t be shy :)


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